Haunted
by trianqles
Summary: Bill Cipher has been defeated and reduced to a vulnerable physical form, but the turmoil is far from over. The residents of the Mystery Shack are reeling as they cope with Dipper's death and Bill makes his presence known, grappling with unprecedented human emotions and an enemy that threatens something more valuable than reality itself. (Character death, human!Bill)
1. Chapter 1

"You can't stop me, kid!" Bill snapped, using the last of his dwindling power to rush at Dipper and try to pull his soul from his body and into the Mindscape. He could not be defeated; the millions of years of work he had put into this could not be wasted. Dipper's body went limp and there was an invisible struggle as Mabel and the elder Pines twins watched in horror. He stumbled onto his hands and knees, gasping and clutching his chest as Bill's entire being assaulted him with a pain that roared through his veins and into his heart like wildfire.

"Dipper!" Mabel cried, and before Stanford could reach out and stop her, she was kneeling over her twin brother, who writhed in agony as the blood-red sky began to fade back to normal, the great wound that Bill had torn into the heavens beginning to close. His liquid brown eyes opened and blinked slowly. "B-bro?" Mabel asked hesitantly, cringing as Dipper sat up, pushing her away.

"I see... Shooting stars..." he murmured, barely audible, stumbling drunkenly to his feet only to trip over his own awkward legs, landing face first in the mud.

"What did you just say?"

There was no chance for him to answer. His body remained limp and unmoving. Mabel's ears filled with car alarms, her lungs with fire and her stomach dropped to her feet as she rolled Dipper's unmoving form over, wiping dirt from his face and trying in vain to find the slightest pulsation of a heartbeat within his breast. There was nothing. Mabel clasped his cooling hand in her own, sobbing uncontrollably as her uncles stared in silent shock. Bill had been destroyed, but at a terrible price.

Dipper was rushed to the hospital but by the time he arrived it was too late. He was declared dead on arrival. A small funeral was held, intimate and unextravagant, in Gravity Falls, attended by Stanford and Stanley, Mabel, Mr. and Mrs. Pines, Wendy, Tambry, Robbie, Thompson and their friends, Lazy Susan, Soos and his family including his girlfriend, Melody, and a few other citizens of the small town who he'd helped over the summer. Their parents had asked why Mabel was so insistent on the small ceremony being held in Oregon instead of back home in California, but she wouldn't respond. She didn't know what to say.

Three weeks later, the silence in the stagnant attic air was just as suffocating as it had been the first day. Mabel had hardly moved from her position curled up on the bed, facing the wall. She'd refused to go home, and surprisingly, her parents allowed her to stay this long even after the summer ended. They understood her pain; Dipper had been her best friend and his loss was a crippling one. Everything else needed to stop, at least for a little while. She couldn't bear to turn around and see all of Dipper's things, left untouched as a fine layer of dust began to settle on his bed and books and the blue and white cap he had always worn that rested on the bed.

"Hey, pumpkin?" Grunkle Stan's grating voice murmured as the door creaked open. His voice was quieter than usual, and the expression on his rough, lined face was unusually understanding. "There're some pancakes downstairs. I can bring you some and like, some gummy worms to go with 'em or somethin'."

Of course their Grunkle would try and crack a joke. He always did, and despite herself, Mabel felt a little better. Just a little, but not enough.

"What's the point?" She sighed. There was no reason for her to do anything without her twin there beside her, to have her back. "Why should I enjoy a great breakfast if Dipper can't?"

Stan's expression softened. He walked in, sitting on the foot of the bed next to Mabel. "Well, sweetheart," he said, "maybe you should try enjoyin' it _because_ Dipper can't, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

Mabel looked up at him with large, wet eyes, red and puffy from crying. "What do you mean?"

"Come sit with your Grunkle," he said, patting his lap as Mabel rolled over, putting her head on his knee. "See, kiddo, I felt the same way when your Great Uncle Ford fell through his portal. I thought of all the times we'd fought and not got along, y'know. I thought of those and hated myself for not getting a chance to apologize. It's hard, I know, but d'ya know what else I know?"

She shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, the same one she'd been wearing for at least two weeks. "What do you know?" She asked meekly, wiping a few strands of her greasy hair from her face.

"I know that your brother wouldn't wanna see you be sad, kid. Yeah, you guys fought and the both of you could be annoyin' as heck sometimes, but you're good kids. Dipper was a good kid. I think we both know that he'd wantcha to be happy, sweetie. Think about how upset he'd be if he knew you were up here mopin' because of him."

Mabel steeled herself and glanced over at her brother's things. His unmade bed and the books and pens strewn about looked almost as if he would've leapt upstairs at any second to retrieve his cap and drag Mabel along with him to exorcise some demon piranhas or something equally ridiculous. Stan was right, she thought. Dipper would be sad to see her being sad, and she didn't want that for him.

"You're right, Grunkle Stan," she murmured, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "It won't be easy, but by gosh I'm gonna be happy. For Dipper!"

Stan smiled, too, but then it turned into a slight scowl. "Mabel, sweetie."

"Yes Grunkle Stan?"

"Please shower, kid. Yeesh, you smell! And this is comin' from me!"

The both laughed weakly as Mabel hopped off the bed. "Ok," she said, "I'll clean myself up if you'll save me some pancakes!"

"Deal, kiddo." Stan retreated back downstairs and Mabel gathered some clean clothes to replace her current ones. She decided on a bright purple sweater that had the word "positivity" stitched across the front in bold yellow letters. She figured Dipper would be proud, or amused at the very least.

She stood in the shower for a long time. It was refreshing to feel clean again, but that's not why she stood there. Mabel thought for what felt like a long while as the hot water cascaded down over her head, and the longer she thought the more she realized that this would be what Dipper wanted. She dried and dressed herself, brushing her hair and trying to look presentable for the first time in weeks.

She glanced over at Dipper's bed, and the lonely cap that sat by the pillow. After a moment's thought, she took it in her hands. She ran her fingers along the brim, admiring its fraying stitches. Worn, but still resolute. After another moment, Mabel tentatively placed the hat in her head. Yes, she thought. This would remind her of Dipper whenever she was tempted to feel sad and let him down. He had worn this cap almost nonstop since the first day of summer, and despite the abuse it had seen it remained by his side, unwavering so that is was nearly a part of Dipper himself. She would keep this part of her brother, Mabel resolved, she would keep it with her so that he could be with her as she healed. That would make it easier, she thought.

"Did you save some for me?" Mabel asked as she came downstairs.

"Yeah, kid, come'n get some p-" Stan froze a moment, enough for Ford to pull his nose away from his notebook to look up at Mabel.

"You're wearing Dipper's cap," Ford observed.

"Grunkle Stan told me how Dipper wouldn't want me to be sad," said Mabel with a melancholy smile. "And, I thought that maybe if I kept this with me, it'd remind me of him and maybe help me to not feel sad anymore."

Stan nodded approvingly. "You're doin' great, kid."

"It's a hard thing to go through," Ford chimed in awkwardly. Ford's people skills seemed to have degraded during all the years he spent trapped in another dimension, and it showed. But he meant well, and that's all that mattered.

Mabel thanked them both and sat with them at the kitchen table. They ate and laughed and joked. Things were almost normal save the fourth empty chair that glared at them throughout. Maybe reminders like that would be less common if she got away from the Mystery Shack, Mabel thought.

"What day is today?" She asked sheepishly, shoveling a bite of syrup-drenched pancakes into her mouth and cringing inwardly as she remembered the syrup races she and Dipper had always had. She definitely needed to step away from the shack.

"Saturday," Ford replied absentmindedly, wetting his fingers and turning the page.

"That's good." Mabel said, hopping from the table, "I think I'm gonna go see if Candy and Grenda are around. It's been a long time since we talked and they're probably worried about me."

Stan grinned, "Good idea, kiddo. It'll do ya some good to get some sun and, y'know, human contact or somethin'."

"Excellent," Ford said, still absorbed in his reading.

Mabel ran downstairs and through the empty shop, which was closed this weekend. Most likely, she knew, because Stan was too worried about her to keep running his tourist trap. If that didn't say something about how worried she'd made everyone, she didn't know what did. She closed the door behind her and started walking into town to find her friends at some of their usual hangout spots.

Once Stan had heard the bell on the door ring as Mabel left, he turned to Ford. "What d'ya think you're doing?"

Ford looked up, brown furrowed in worry. "Something isn't right, Stan."

"Of course it isn't! Mabel's really strugglin' right now and trust me, she's gonna need all the help she can get to be able to get through this and you're just ignorin' her!"

"No," Ford said, worry glistening in his eyes, "I really think something is terribly wrong. I don't think Bill was completely destroyed."

Stan's eyes widened, but then narrowed suspiciously. "What makes you think that?"

"My machines downstairs," he explained, "they're picking up powerful anomalies. They've only ever had readings like that when Bill was nearby."

"Maybe they're broken," Stan said, brushing him off.

"But that's not the only thing!" Ford continued, seeming to become a little more distraught the more he spoke, "At least twice, my journals weren't open to the pages where I left them!"

"Probably the wind, Ford." Stan sighed, "You're bein' so paranoid, no wonder you and the kid got along so good."

Ford narrowed his eyes. "I wouldn't be talking about this if it wasn't important. Please, trust me, and hear me out." Stan sighed and crossed his arms, but let his brother continue. "Things have been moved. Small things. My pens were arranged by amount of ink left in them. A great deal of my notes were alphabetized. I've even noticed other things in the house, like your garbage in the living room or dishes in the kitchen be mysteriously cleaned up. Small things keep moving and changing and these happenings just so happen to coincide with the anomalous readings I've been picking up!"

Stan's eyebrows furrowed and he scowled, seeming deep in thought. "So," he said, "we have a clean-freak ghost?"

Ford shook his head. Stan was surprised to see a twinge of fear in his eyes and voice. "No. Most ghosts cannot interact with the physical world without a vessel to possess, and even higher level poltergeists with that ability wouldn't give off a fraction of the readings I'm getting. I've been researching this ever since we lost Dipper and the events began. The only plausible answer I can find is that we are being haunted by a demon. One close to, if not just as powerful as Bill was."

"You seem pretty sure about this," Stan said. "So what d'ya think we should do?"

"I think the best course of action," Ford replied, "would be to perform a summoning ritual."

"You wanna summon a demon in the Shack?" Stan crossed his arms, shaking his head.

"Is it really that big a deal? If all he's doing is messin' with your pens, d'ya really think it's worth that much trouble?"

"Yes." Replied Ford determinedly. "I propose we tell Mabel this evening. If she wants to stay, she can, and watch the ritual. Otherwise, she can go somewhere else until we are done and find out what this entity wants, and how to get rid of it. I don't trust it one bit. Like I said, the power I'm reading is much too great for this demon to be doing things as mundane as cleaning up after you and I like some kind of housemaid- it's strong enough that it might even be..." He swallowed hard, "that Bill somehow survived and regained his strength. He must be planning something."

"Alright. We'll break it to the kid when she gets home, but for now, tell me what we'll need for this ritual." There was a long pause. "I have some questions, first though."

"Go on."

"Is it gonna be safe for the kid? And more importantly, will it scratch my floors?"

* * *

 **A/N: Hi there Internet! I haven't done detailed writing like this in a while, so please excuse any errors! I hope nobody's too OOC, but if so please let me know so I can avoid similar mistakes in future chapters.**


	2. Chapter 2

Mabel was able to find Candy and Grenda with relative ease, stumbling upon them at one of their most common hangouts near the diner. Despite her best efforts, Mabel found that her newfound optimism and hopefulness quickly degraded once she stepped outside. People passing by lowered their heads, looking at her with pity in their eyes. Her usual aura of unremitting enthusiasm, the one that she had just started to rekindle, was effectively snuffed out by the time she reached her two girlfriends sitting outside Greasy's Diner.

Their bubbly chatter stopped abruptly as they noticed Mabel coming their way.

"Hey there girls," Mabel greeted them with a weak smile. "I'm sorry I haven't been around so much lately."

Candy glanced over at Grenda, and there was a suffocating pause that seemed to drag on for hours before Candy spoke. "Hi, Mabel." She took of her glasses, wiped them clean and adjusted them several times to fill the awkward silence. "I am sorry about Dipper. We should have come to see you sooner."

"Yeah," Grenda added, "it's like, a super tough thing. We should've been here for you, Mabes."

Mabel didn't resist as her girlfriends pulled her into a loving embrace. She patted them both on their backs, smiling morosely. "It's alright, girls." She assured them, pulling away and nodding to them both. "I was in a bad way for a while. It's for the best, I think, that you didn't have to see me being upset. I took my time to mope, but now it's my job to be as positive as I can! For Dip-dop's sake!"

Candy and Grenda both smiled. "It's great to hear that!" The latter cried, scooping up Mabel in a bear hug as Candy grinned.

"Yes," she said, "your brother would be happy for that, I think."

The initial delicacy of their meeting broke like a wave over their heads as they started talking, like old times. About what Mabel had missed during her reclusion, what they were looking forward to do together again, and when they'd meet next weekend after school. But once they came over to Grenda's house, and settled upstairs in the privacy of her room, they also spoke of Dipper. They spoke of things he'd done and times he'd helped them and others, playful battles of syrup and aerosol string they'd had. They laughed at how goofy he could be, and smiled in melancholy silence at Mabel's tales of their heartfelt talks.

"The one time Grunkle Stan walked in on him singing BABBA in the bathroom!" Mabel snorted.

"You've told this story like, a billion times!" Retorted Grenda with a roar of laughter as Mabel imitated her brother with an exaggeratedly low and cracking voice, using Grenda's hairbrush as a microphone and swinging her hips back and forth as she belted out "Disco Girl" at the top of her lungs.

The laughter continued for a while, but soon the sun was creeping down to the bottom half of the sky, scraping the horizon as it floated lower, sending tendrils of crimson and violet light bleeding up into the sky around it. Once she noticed the time, Mabel waved goodbye to her friends, feeling a little better than she'd felt when she started. Even so, a heavy weight kept trying to push her spirits down, like a rock in her stomach. She slowed down as she neared the Mystery Shack, taking Dipper's cap from her head and staring down at it, admiring its simplicity. The hat had no feelings. It didn't have to hurt every second it was reminded of Dipper's absence. It couldn't.

No deliberation was needed, she decided, so instead of returning to the Shack, Mabel placed the hat back onto her head and trudged off into the woods. She walked the beaten path that she and Dipper had traversed countless times. She could almost hear his footsteps and soft breathing behind her. Almost. The forest air smelled earthy and sweet as Mabel drew to a stop. The glen was peacefully secluded, underbrush was populated by flowers and grasses that released bursts of fragrance with every step she took. Fireflies twinkled in the underbrush, dancing and pulsating like tiny stars, like a miniscule galaxy. Mabel understood full well why Dipper always spent so much time in the forest.

She found a stump on the far side of the glen, and sat on it, sticking her head down inside her sweater and wrapping her legs underneath her. She sighed deeply and was still, the only sound being the distant rustling of the trees and grass and the buzzing of the flies in the background. Mabel felt, for lack of a better word, pathetic. She had resolved to be happy. She'd promised that for Dipper and everyone else around her, and it had gone well at first. However, as the evening had worn on she relapsed into moments of heart-wrenching loneliness as she thought of how much Dipper would have enjoyed this. He was her best friend in the world and there was nothing that could distract her from his absence for long.

So, unable to face herself with anything else, Mabel kept her head buried in the stuffy confines of Sweatertown, face pressed against the tangle of her curled limbs and hair. She'd never expected to be in this situation. As far as she'd considered, Dipper would've been there with her forever. She sighed again, wiping tears from her eyes as she emerged from her sweater. She stretched out her legs and arms and stood on the ground, eyes flitting about the grass before they caught on a sharp stone on the ground. She gripped its grimy surface and dragged it across the stump, gouging deep marks into the flesh of the tree.

"DIP + MABEL, MYSTERY TWINS FOREVER," read the crude carving. Mabel let her fingers drift over the rough letters one last time, feeling each splinter and sharp edge of the ravaged wood dig into the pads of her fingers. She didn't mind, and even dared to blow a tender kiss into the growing dark of the forest as she turned around and plodded down the overgrown oath back to the Shack.

"I'm home," she called, "Grunkle Stan? Great Uncle Ford?" Stan was not in his usual spot in the armchair, snoring in front of the nightly showings of "Ductective," or "Tiger Fist." In fact, the Mystery Shack was eerily quiet. Mabel's dark hazel eyes flitted to the clock as she explored the empty house. It was only half past eight, so they couldn't be sleeping. She glanced at the vending machine, wondering if they had gone to the basement for some reason. If they had, it must be important. Grunkle Stan hated going down there. Mabel curled her fingers around the overlong sleeves of her sweater, sighing deeply. Dipper's paranoid streak seemed to be rubbing off on her. Stan and Ford were probably doing something completely unextraordinary and she was just overthinking it.

However, her stomach dropped a little lower as each room she checked turned up empty of both Ford and Stan. If they were in the basement lab together, it must be for something important. She remembered Great Uncle Ford telling her the password to the vending machine some weeks ago, when they had first Bill-proofed the shack. He'd said that she and Dipper could hide in there, "in case of emergency."

"A-1-B-C-3," she breathed, standing on her tiptoes and punching in the code as she spoke. The vending machine door swung away from the wall with a hydraulic hiss, and Mabel stepped inside. There was a lever inside the dingy elevator. She pulled the vending machine back against the wall with a loud clank and pulled the lever down. There was a grinding and a clank and the elevator began to descend. It's rusty grated doors creaked open once it lurched to a stop about an inch from actually touching the floor. Mabel hopped down from it with a soft thud.

"Ah," Ford acknowledged, lifting his head and dusting his hands together as he approached her. "I'm glad you're here, Mabel."

"Oh?" She couldn't help but snort, feeling playful, "Are you guys doing some nerd stuff down here?"

Mabel immediately shut her mouth and let her smile fall as Ford's stern gaze told her that now was not the time for tomfoolery. "Something of the sort," he confirmed. Mabel followed him to a wide empty space in the basement. Her eyes widened slightly at what she saw; on the floor a massive pentagram was marked in white chalk. Illegible symbols marked each point of the star, a blank white circle in the middle. Three smaller and similar circles were set at even intervals around the arrangement, each one lined with salt and lavender.

"Great Uncle Ford," she breathed in disbelief, "what's all this?" She wanted to gush and be optimistic and silly per usual, but something about the dire seriousness in Ford's tone warned against it.

"I have reason to believe," he explained, unnervingly calm, "that we're being haunted."

"By what?" Mabel inquired, knowing in the pit of her stomach what the answer would be.

"A demon," Ford replied. His voice had started to tremble. "It may be Bill, or perhaps another dream demon, or even a high category ghost. Whatever it is, it's powerful."

Stan sighed one more time, "Ford, is this really necessary? I feel like the demonic summoning thing's a little much here."

Ford shot him a sharp glare, effectively silencing the man of mystery.

Mabel didn't know how to speak. She just nodded somberly. The thought of Bill returning was enough to snuff out her optimism at a moment's notice. She remembered the terrible pain he'd put Dipper through; he hadn't slept soundly for weeks after the opera possession incident, not to mention the clear agony he was in as he died. She remembered his liquid brown eyes glazing over, looking dazedly up at her as rivulets of tears poured from his eyes, pink-tinted froth flecking the corners of his mouth as blood rose from his throat with a gurgle, and slowly his heaving breaths drew to a stop. She would never forget his face. He looked so... Confused. He was so small and scared and helpless and so was she. There was nothing that could be done and that was terrifying.

Ford shook her from her thoughts, only for a new, slightly more optimistic one occurred to her. "Uncle Ford," she said thoughtfully, "if it's a ghost, is there any chance it might be... Y'know... Him?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Maybe," he admitted, "but," his tone was sharp and warning, "I can't promise you it's not something terrible instead... Or worse."

There was a long pause before Stan coughed loudly. "You gushers done with the dramatic stuff yet?" He seemed impatient, and Mabel processed that he'd been there the whole time without her really noticing.

"Yeah." She said, nodding. Despite his gruffness, Mabel could identify the slightest twinkle of hope in Stan's old eyes. He was hoping the same thing as she was.

"Anyway," said Ford, "this ritual only requires one person to be effective, however I thought it was something significant enough for us all to witness." He gestured to the three safety circles and said, "You must stand inside those circles when I activate the pentagram, otherwise whatever we summon could hurt, possess, or even kill you if it's feeling ambitious. And make sure not to disturb the salt. Understood?"

Stan nodded grudgingly and Mabel did a small salute, hopping into the nearest circle. "I'm still not sure about this," the former grumbled, but he was paid no mind. Ford opened a book and flipped through the pages, seeming idle. Everything seemed so sluggish, like swimming through molasses. The seconds dragged on with unbearable slowness that seared and burned their chests as they struggled not to be impatient.

"Everyone in their places?" Ford asked. Once he was sure of Mabel and Stan, he stepped into his own protective salt circle. The book was open and for a long moment, everything was eerily silent, but that quiet was quickly broken as Ford cleared his throat to speak the incantation. "Creaturae tuae, exaudi verba mea; vos spiritum daemonii aut extraneae spiritu vocat vos coram mundo!"

His voice roared out with impressive volume as stark blue light began to rise from the circle, black smoke billowing from its center. There was certainly no going back now.

* * *

Without Mabel's knowledge, a presence had stirred in the dark undergrowth bordering the glen where she'd carved her crushed hopes into the tree. A single bloodshot eye flashed in the gloom as blue fire ravenously consumed the carving and the stump upon which it was inscribed.

"We'll see how this plays out," it chuckled in a warped, rumbling voice, and as the fire faded and smoldered, cries of pain were all that remained in the silence as it drifted towards the shack.

* * *

 **A/N: I honestly didn't plan for things to escalate so quickly haha. I feel like this is a little rushed in terms of pacing but I'm out of practice so that'll take time to get back into the swing of. I was also notified of some apparent similarities to the Transcendence AU and I couldn't resist taking a look at it (I'm hooked now!) So while this fic will remain primarily independent, it's safe to expect potential references, a "hats off" if you will to certain aspects of the AU.**


	3. Chapter 3

Two voices bickered in the darkness of the forest's edge, unbeknownst to the humans that slumbered peacefully at the waxing moon's request. "C'mon," a shrill, reverberating voice giggled, "we're partners, aren't we, brother?"

The second, a reedy tenor, only snapped in return. " **If you weren't so useful to me** ," he hissed maliciously, " **I'd rip the damn eye you've got left right out of your head. Do you know that, _brother_**?"

"Careful there," the shrill one chided with a mocking chuckle, "you're getting to be a real piece of work, M-"

" **Shut the hell up** ," snarled the second speaker, an inhuman growl rumbling up behind his thin voice even as it cracked sharply. " **That name's not yours to use.** "

The shriller of the two voices muttered something unintelligible, but definitely mocking as he and his "brother" drifted deeper into the gloom of the forest, away from the warm yellow glow of the Mystery Shack, retreating from the light like phantoms. There was a long, painful silence before the shrill speaker spoke up again.

"D'ya wanna know what those humans were up to in there?" He pressed, seeming tentative.

" **Those meatsacks, huh?** " The pair could only be seen as two vaguely humanoid shadows, floating just a few linches up from the ground. Both sported slitted yellow eyes, gleaming with reflective film like a cat's as the light struck them, though the taller of the two only had one remaining. " **Spit it out.** "

The shrill voice started to tremble, anxiousness growing in his shaking voice as he realized that this was a very, very bad idea. "They're planning a ritual," he yipped terror as dark power rolled off the reedy one in paralyzing waves, causing the plant life around him to shrivel and blacken. His eyes gleamed darkly, a red ring pulsating around his slitted pupil as it dilated. A grotesque snarl twisted his face, twitching violently with barely contained rage.

" **Ritual for what?** " He hissed, pulling his "partner" up close to his face by the collar of his dress shirt until their faces were almost touching.

The formerly bubbly one trembled, golden tears pouring from his good eye as he cringed away from his partner's hot, moist breath. "Summoning!" He cried, "Summoning and binding! They want to stop us!"

While smaller in stature, it was clear which was the leader and stronger of the two. Blue fire flared in his hand, sending his partner reeling with an inhuman wail of agony as his throat was burned by the magical flame. " **They won't get far.** " The one-eyed phantom whined like a dog, falling to his hands and knees as the reedy-voiced one kicked him in the throat with the gold-tipped toe of his dress shoe to further his message. "I'll make sure of that." His darkly glittering eyes narrowed as he spat, " **Get out of my sight, you pathetic piece of shit.** " The shrill phantom obliged, crying as he stumbled into the forest, leaving the other standing alone in a circle of smoldering blue flames.

* * *

 **A/N: woah! Ominous foreshadowing stuff is happening here hash. This chapter's pretty short but no worries there, The next one is just shy of 3,000 words, I believe. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

For a moment after the summoning, Mabel feared that nothing would appear at all. "Be patient," Ford murmured, sensing her unease. However, as the moments dragged on, nothing happened. Eerie blue light seemed to glimmer from the circle, bringing their hopes up only to flicker out like a dying flame. There was a long pause before a flash of yellow light blinded all in the room as a lanky humanoid figure phased into the room in the center of the circle.

Those eyes- or single eye rather- were unmistakable to anyone who'd so much as caught a glimpse of Bill Cipher, and lord willing they'd all seen enough. However, something was... Off. Namely, instead of taking the form of a one-eyed triangle with cartoonish stick figure-esque limbs, before them was a hopelessly emaciated young man, whose dark skin was terribly sallow and pasty, as though with illness. His single pale yellow eye, the other being covered with a dark eyepatch, darted to and fro nervously, framed by dark purple bags. He hovered just above the floor, but not like they'd seen him, his shiny leather shoes dragging on the floor. He clutched a black cane close to his chest, but quickly tucked it into his yellow overcoat as he realized where he was. He fiddled with the golden cufflinks at his wrists in a vain attempt to look presentable.

"Bill," Ford growled, voice full of contempt.

"Hey there, Sixer," Bill mumbled, and the fact that something was very wrong was only enforced by the soft, grating sound of his voice, as though so much as a whisper would be enough to shred his vocal cords. That's when Mabel took notice of the ugly burn peeking up from under his shirt collar, formerly out of sight until he'd turned his head.

Without thinking, Mabel rushed forward, breaking the salt-and-lavender protection circle as she joined this strange incarnation of Bill Cipher in the pentagram. "You're hurt! She cried, her good nature getting the best of her as she pulled him down to her height, putting her hands through his tousled blonde hair. Bill's single eye widened but he did not resist, cringing as Mabel unbuttoned his mostly-white dress shirt, tainted only by the clear fluid leaking from the burn. She looked at the wound in horror, reaching out to try and treat it to the best of her ability before Ford yanked her by the sweater sleeve out of the circle, chanting feverish Latin that made Bill cringe.

"What were you thinking?" He snapped, keeping himself between his great niece and the dream demon he'd fought for so long. "He could've torn your soul right from your body, you were so close!" He then turned to his old adversary, taking note of the dull illness in his pale yellow eye. "What do you want, Cipher?"

Bill seemed to snap out of some kind of trance, not seeming to care as Ford pulled Mabel back into his protection circle. Ford was especially suspicious of this; Bill should have leapt at the chance of easy prey to toy with. "I dunno, Sixer," he murmured, gaze drifting dazedly about the lab, "you're the one who summoned me."

"Why aren't you a triangle?" Mabel blurted suddenly.

He shrugged, "Long story, Shooting Star." He shuddered, looking away. Alright, something was terribly, horribly wrong. What could make a being like Bill do something like shudder? What had reduced him to such a state.

There was a short pause before Stan spoke. "You look pretty crummy. Feelin' up to makin' a deal? I heard it's what you do best."

Bill sighed. "Alrighty," he said, seeming devoid of his usual outgoing nature, "shoot."

Stan grinned, "Okay then, corn chip kid!"

Bill's face fell. "Bu-"

"No buts!" The old man growled, "So here's what I'm thinkin'; you tell us everything we want to know, and in exchange, we'll fix up that shoulder'a yours, feed ya, wash your clothes, y'know basic needs for survival, blah blah blah, you get the gist."

"What makes you think I need your help?" He said defiantly, tipping his nose up and away from Stan and his proclamation.

"We're not blind, Cipher," Ford cut in. "You're clearly taking up residence in a body in the physical plane. Either you don't know how or just don't care to take care of it properly."

"Yeah, you silly Billy," Mabel added, "don't you remember the tickles and bug bites you learned about when you-" she abruptly stopped herself, looking away as she remembered what she was saying. Bill's single eye couldn't help but wander to her, wondering why her face as wet.

There was a long moment before Bill sighed, seeming to give in. He stuck a hand out to Ford, confirming the details of the deal. "I'll tell you whatever you want, and you help me maintain this flimsy meatsack."

"No tongue in cheek or riddles or cryptic messages, screaming heads or deer teeth, possession or deception of any kind, et cetera, et cetera. No tricks from either of us." Ford added.

Bill sighed grudgingly as Stanford effectively filled in any useful loopholes that might've remained. His gloved hand lit up in feeble blue flames that hardly even glowed as he shook with Ford. "Alrighty then," he said, seeming a little more like his old self as he floated a bit higher off the ground. "What can I do ya for?"

"Firstly," Ford mused, "why are you human? Or rather, why do you have a human body right now?"

Bill swallowed hard, glancing at Mabel. She could swear she saw something like fear flicker in his eye, but it was gone just as quickly as it'd appeared. "After I tried to possess Pine Tree, it backfired." He shuddered. "I woke up like this, stuck in a meatsack like all you stupid little things. I'm still not sure exactly what happened; can only figure the new boss put me in here so it'd be my turn to be his mortal puppet."

"Boss?" Mabel echoed, eyes narrowing at the implication Bill had just made. "Your turn?"

"Yeah." The demon replied with a nod. "See..."

Stan's eyes widened. "The sock opera," he breathed.

"What's that?" Ford asked.

"A while ago," explained Mabel, "he tricked Dipper into making a deal so he could possess his body to destroy the journal..." She trailed off with a shrug, willing herself not to think about what must've happened here.

Ford's mouth hung open in a small "o" before it shut, and then opened again, making him look like a fish. He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a heaving sigh. What he was about to suggest was ridiculous, but better safe than sorry, he supposed. "Bill," he began, shaking his head, "you're not saying it was Dipper that burned you, is it? Is Dipper your boss?"

"No."

"Then who?"

Bill waved a hand vaguely, "His name is so far beyond this dimension's comprehension that the mere mention of it would cause you to have fatal aneurysms instantly!" Some of his former playful impertinence seemed to have returned as he cackled. "If I said it you'd all die!" He coughed a little, seemed to remember who he was talking about and lowered his head. "But no, it's not Pine Tree. We had our... Disagreements, from time to time but I like to think we were good chums in the end." There were so many things wrong with what he'd just said that there was no point in bringing attention to them.

"Alright," Ford murmured, "in that case, what did happen to Dipper?"

The dream demon actually lowered his head further, till it seemed like it would sink down into his shoulders and disappear. "That's for the boss to say. I'm not the head honcho anymore, catch my meaning?"

"Bill," Stan growled, cracking his knuckles. The demon stiffened and knew when he was beaten. Normally the elderly meatsack would be a piece of cake, but he still didn't know the limits of this form and knew damn well he couldn't afford to take unnecessary risks until he was sure of himself.

"Fine," he hissed. "I have reason to figure the boss has his soul wrapped up for safekeeping in the Mindscape."

"Why?" Mabel murmured, eyes still pointlessly wet despite Bill's careful consideration of the situation. There was no reason for her eyes to be wet, no purpose or function. They just were.

Bill sighed. "I'm not sure myself. When the boss took over, he stripped me of most of my power, so I can't scry for him or anything. Shame, Pine Tree was always my favorite. Reminded me of myself when I was young-"

"Enough." Stan growled, his natural connection as Mabel's Grunkle forcing him to move in her defense as her small shoulders heaved with horribly pointless sobs.

Ford just observed as Bill's eye narrowed and his brow furrowed in confusion as Mabel wept into Stan's round belly. He could practically envision the calculations and logistics running through the demon's consciousness, knowing that none of his fruitless trains of thought would ever allow him to conclude. In all his former power, human emotion was beyond his capacity to understand.

"I'm okay," Mabel assured them tearily, glancing forlornly up at Bill.

The demon was about to continue speaking before a loud rumble interrupted him. He glanced around, wondering dazedly where it came from before he remembered that he had a body now. "Oh," he murmured, muttering something about inconvenience as he floated lower. "Meatsacks need sustenance, right?"

There was an unanimous nod throughout the room. "Yeah, Silly-Billy-"

"Don't call me that."

Mabel continued, unfazed, "Grunkle Stan, can you make some Stan-cakes? He's never eaten before and he's gotta have a super special first meal!" Stan sighed grudgingly but nodded. Under any other circumstances he'd've laughed in the demon's face and sooner smack him in unfortunate places with a hot frying pan than even offer him so much as a crumb, but for Mabel's sake he complied. God bless her good-naturedness, he thought. Even with everything he'd put them through, she still insisted on focusing on the best in Bill instead of all the ways he'd hurt them. It was admirable, if anything was, he thought as he disappeared up the elevator. "And Grunkle Ford?"

"Yes, Mabel?"

"You keep a first-aid kit down here, right?"

"Yes, Mabel." He pointed to his desk. "It's in one of the drawers on the left side under there. Towards the bottom, I think."

Bill observed silently, making nearly the same internal comments as Stan had. To put it plainly, he couldn't help but be shocked by Mabel's kindness. It was almost enough to warm his heart if it weren't for the part of him that held his grudges. It insisted that the Pines family was still his enemy no matter how generous they were.

Mabel returned with a white-and-red first aid kid under her arm, taking Ford along with her as they carefully stepped into the pentagram, careful not to disturb any of the salt that lined its rim, as that could allow Bill to escape. Together, Stanford and Mabel went about treating Bill's ugly burn. As Mabel fetched necessities, Ford unbuttoned the dream demon's dress shirt to reveal the entirety of the wound, washing it with cool water. Bill cried out as the minutes dragged on and Ford gently washed the burn, which he estimated was at least second-degree, patted it dry and applied some antibiotic ointment to the burn site. "Quit being a baby," he muttered gruffly, "'pain is hilarious,' right?" Bill only hissed through gritted teeth in response as the wound was bandaged loosely.

"Done?" He breathed, panting and hunching his shoulder up to shield the burn.

Ford nodded. "Try not to touch it," he advised. "You've got some nasty blisters and if they break we'll have to clean and dress it all over again, which is unnecessary at this point."

The demon sighed. "Aye aye," he muttered with a grudging salute, and dared to add, "old friend."

Ford stiffened but did not reply as Mabel took Bill by the hand and lead him to the elevator to the ground floor, from which the enticing scent of fresh-cooked Stan-cakes wafted. "See?" Mabel asked, "Smells good, huh?" Bill nodded dazedly, eyes flitting about the house around him. He'd never really taken it in in detail before. He liked it. "Well you gotta hold your horses!" Bill cocked his head to one side like a confused dog as Mabel pulled him up the stairs. "We'll just be a second, Grunkle Stan!" She called to her thoroughly perplexed great uncle as they disappeared into the attic,

Bill suddenly found himself being sat down on Dipper's bed as Mabel rummaged through piles of colorful paraphernalia ranging from unicorn plushies to what appeared to be a bedazzled grappling hook. "Is this Pine Tree's?" He asked, coughing lightly into his arm.

"Yeah. Speaking of Dipper," she murmured, cheerful tone dying quickly. "Do you think he'll ever... Come back? You said he was stuck in the Mindscape or something."

Despite his best efforts, the demon felt something in him soften as Mabel's dejected gaze drifted about. "I don't know, Shooting Star." His voice was barely a whisper. There was a long, painful silence before Mabel seemed to brighten up suddenly.

"I just remembered," she explained, "that I whipped this up for you in between getting things for Great Uncle Ford." And before Bill could respond, she whipped out a large yellow sweater, complete with glitter. On the front in almost painfully bright blue letters, were the words, "I'm a demon corn chip."

And yet again, Bill found himself enjoying what she gave him despite himself. He immediately removed his dirty and bloodstained jacket and dress shirt to pull the sweater over his head, grinning and letting out a bemused chuckle. Something told him Pine Tree would've been amused as he followed her downstairs. Mabel showed him to the table and brought over still-steaming plates of Stan-cakes as they began to eat.

In regards to his appetite, Mabel decided that the dream demon could only be equated to a starving wolf. His ravenously devoured at least four helpings of Stan-cakes before seeming to be sated, at which point he promptly discovered Stan's personal stash of late-night beers and helped himself to one. Or a few. The remainder of the evening was spent trying to listen to the nightly airing of "Ducktective" over Bill Cipher's drunken ramblings about beating up space goats and using stars as monkey bars. However, before long he was fast asleep, snoring into Waddles, who had initially not taken terribly fondly to him. However, after learning that Bill was an affectionate drunk, the pig settled himself quite comfortably between the demon's gently rising and falling chest and the small of Mabel's back. Sitting in his armchair, Stan couldn't help but glance down and wonder how this fragile, docile young man that curled up so innocently on the floor with a pig and a girl could be the same as the demon that had nearly destroyed this dimension as humanity had known it.

Surely, something had to be off. There had to be a catch, something, anything. There must be an ulterior motive, but no matter how hard and for how long Ford brainstormed in the lab that night, he couldn't figure out a single loophole in the watertight deal he'd made. Bill surely must've been desperate to accept a deal as relatively one-sided as this one. It made him wonder just how much he must fear this so-called "boss" that he would go to such lengths. He was terrified at the idea of a creature so horrid and despicable that Bill Cipher himself would tremble at the mere implication of a thought of its presence.

* * *

 **A/N: here we go! Things are getting interesting. I felt the need to include human!Bill for a variety of reasons, namely the fact that I have a vague idea of an overarching "grand scheme" of things that would explain Bill's expulsion from true demonhood into the body of s mortal. (It's his own, not a possessed puppet) And for the record, just 'cause it might come up, no, I don't ship MabelxBill. Their relationship will remain purely platonic as far as I have planned. On a different note, who is this mysterious power with dominion over Bill Cipher himself? What reduced him to such a state? Do we even want to know? I feel like I've got a lot of OOC-ness happening here so I apologize for that. If there are any striking errors, please let me know so I can fix them. It's late and I likely missed more than a few things.**


	5. Chapter 5

"Living with you meatsacks ain't so bad after all," said Bill cheekily, shoveling strawberry ice cream into his mouth as Stan flipped through the channels on their TV.

"Of course it isn't!" She cheered in response, "We have ice cream!"

Bill had managed to settle quite nicely into the Pines family routine. His complete lack of understanding of basic human courtesies, such as table manners, cause only a few unfortunate incidents. All in all, he'd proven himself tolerable to Ford and Stan- nearly likeable, even. He'd proven a hit at the Mystery Shack- Stan dressed him up like a ghost and had him float around the attractions, popping out and frightening unsuspecting tourists, much to his delight. He even got along alright with Wendy and Soos, despite the latter's initial passing out at introduction. Things were finally looking up. Life had finally begun to resume a semblance of normalcy for the Pines family; Bill was adjusting, slowly but surely- Ford was making more progress with teaching him proper human mannerisms in exchange for information- and Mabel had been enrolled into Gravity Falls public middle school, with parental permission, of course, and the pain of all that'd happened was finally beginning to dull.

But of course, as always in this town, the peace didn't last. One Saturday afternoon, Ford called Mabel down into the basement while Bill was busy attempting to navigate the inner mechanisms of the shower and Stan was luring yet another pack of tourists into this trap.

"What's up?" She asked cheerily. It was almost frightening how easily she could pull the mood around.

However, Ford requested that she be serious. "I have some important things you need to know about Bill for as long as he's here."

"Ok!" Mabel cried, putting on an exaggerated "serious" expression, crossing her arms and sitting with legs crossed on the plastic chair Ford had pulled up for her.

"I can't stress enough that you must be careful around him," Ford lectured, expression grim. "Yes," he admitted, "his powers do seem to genuinely be gone, but the danger remains. He's no longer capable of things as extreme as bending reality or anything to that effect, but he's still a demon, not to mention a complete sociopath, understand? There's nothing stopping him from finding a weapon, be it verbal or physical, and jumping as soon as he gets the chance."

Mabel's gaze drifted away. "I understand, Great Uncle Ford, but-" She almost immediately cut herself off, shaking her head.

"What is it?" Ford' eyes glistened with worry, a protective edge creeping into his voice. "Did he do something to you?"

Mabel shook her head vigorously. "No!" She assured him, sighing and massaging her temple in thought. "He just… He's not evil! He's sad. Great Uncle Ford, you have no idea how sad he is!"

Ford arched an eyebrow, putting a reassuring hand on his great niece's shoulder. "How do you mean?"

There was a long silence. "Since he didn't have any place else to sleep," she began, "I've been letting him sleep in Dipper's old bed. And, y'know, it gets kind of lonely in that big ol' attic so having somebody there kind of helps, even if it's him." She could sense his disapproval of allowing herself to be in such a vulnerable state with Bill nearby and unsupervised, but Ford did not interrupt. "He cries in his sleep, Great Uncle Ford." His eyes widened, but he still did not speak as Mabel continued. "He cries so hard and he's so scared. He calls a name, sometimes. I don't know for sure what it is, but he's suffering! I can't just let that happen! I make sure he's got a hand to hold when he's having those nightmares! That's the Mabel Difference!"

"Mabel, sweetheart," Ford sighed, "I understand how you must feel, and I'm proud of you for being such a kind person, but people- demons- like Bill can never change. He's mad and broken an-"

"Stop!" She cried, eyes filling with tears. "I know! I know he's horrible and crazy and mean but he only acts like that 'cause he's sad on the inside! So what if he's broken? Maybe I can fix him!" There was a long silence before Mabel wiped her tears away with her sweater sleeve, huffing dejectedly. "I know you and Bill had bad times before. I shouldn't have expected you to understand. People _can_ change." Without another word, she turned around and headed upstairs, leaving Ford to stand and stare dazedly after her.

* * *

Bill sighed deeply, staring up at the ceiling of the attic. His single good eye was heavy-lidded and cloudy. He was fairly sure his eyesight was excellent as far as meatsacks went, but the haze over his vision refused to go away. His hand instinctively moved to rub his eye and came away wet. He tasted it. Salty. Curious. He sat up in Pine Tree's old bed, wiping his eye on the sleeve of the sweater Mabel had made for him.

It was... perplexing, to say the least. He had spent the past several million years dedicating himself to his master plan. Merging the Dreamscape and the physical plane would have given him power enough to be more than a demon. He could have been a God. The power that he could have possessed could have been limitless. The things he could have been able to do. All spoiled by a bunch of dumb meatsacks, who were ironically too clever for their own good. The memory of why exactly he had hatched this plan was hazy to say the least, but all he did remember was that it was important. He figured, that since it was so very important, the meaning behind it would have been revealed once the grand scheme was completed. Those stupid, idiot meatsacks.

"Hey there, Silly-Billy," Mabel greeted. He yelped softly and his head snapped up as she called on his attention, and he noticed something in her aura that hinted at a bit of guilt for disturbing him.

He nodded dazedly, "Hey there, Shooting St-" He cut himself off abruptly. Shooting Star? What kind of name was that? What was he thinking? His gaze drifted around the room, scanning for something to remind him of her true name. He didn't know why something in him was so desperate to address her correctly- she was just another meatsack to toy with until he could return to his previous form.

Mabel noticed something was wrong almost immediately. "Bill?" She murmured. "You okay?" He silently cursed this human girl's borderline-paranormal ability to pick up on social cues, even with his extremely limited ability to convey via those skills when he actually wanted to.

"Yeah," he snapped without meaning to. Defiantly, the kid didn't even flinch. He didn't understand these feelings roiling up from the pit of his stomach. He wasn't hungry. He'd learned to recognize human emotions like hunger and thirst. He'd already been acquainted with exhaustion and what Stanley referred to as "the call of nature," rather the method which with meatsacks disposed of their waste. Bill couldn't for the life of him figure out what his inconvenient human vessel might be demanding now, and the feeling continued to boil in his gut.

"I'll take that as a "no," huh?"

She was absolutely infuriating. "I..." He growled softly, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair in frustration. "This meatsack body of mine is turning against me," he complained, "it was cool when there was ice cream but this human thing sucks!"

Mabel smiled understandingly, sitting next to him on the bed. "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Thirsty?"

"Nope."

"Constipated?"

"What?"

"Maybe you're lactose intolerant," Mabel suggested with a playful grin. "ice cream ain't agreein' with you?"

Bill shrugged. Maybe this little meatsack might understand and be able to make the feeling go away if he explained it to her. "It's not a feeling like that," he said vaguely, struggling to find the words, "It's a different one. I don't know how to explain it. It's in my guts. It kinda hurts... but not. I don't know."

Mabel narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, putting a hand on his forehead. "Maybe this is a job for Dr. Mabel! No fever. Do you feel like throwing up?"

"Do I feel like what?"

"Throwing up. It's a thing people's bodies do when they get sick or eat something bad. Their body spits it back out 'cause it's trying to get the bad stuff out."

The dream demon's eye widened with a morbid excitement. "Will my guts come out? Is that why they feel strange? That'd be so cool!"

She laughed at him, gently punching him in the shoulder. "Naw, that's gross!" There was a moment of comfortable silence before Mabel found the courage to ask. "Is something bothering you?"

He cackled wickedly, "Besides you, Shooting Star?"

Mabel snorted, "Shut up. I mean it. What's the matter?"

Bill shrugged. "I can't figure out what," he said. "I'm not hungry or thirsty or tired so I can't imagine what else would be wrong. I forget, do meatsacks ever malfunction?"

Mabel quickly deflated. Bill felt oddly exposed as her glittering dark eyes scrutinized him, taking in every detail. He was feeling exposed? He had no weakness. No one and nothing ever told him what to d- He gasped softly. No one but him. Nothing but that... thing. The form it'd taken was vaguely human, but Bill had more than a billion years of experience up his sleeve. He could taste it in its aura, something rancid and infected. Something monstrous and sickening. Perhaps the scariest part, despite every other demon and abomination he'd ever faced in his millennia of wandering the Mindscape, it was tainted with something he had never tasted before. An impossibility.

"Are you okay?" Mabel repeated, once again pulling Bill from his thoughts. Something in him urged him to apologize for worrying her, but he brushed the unwanted feeling aside. He was Bill Cipher. He did not allow pathetic meatsacks to hover over him like he was a helpless child. He most certainly did not give out apologies.

"Just shut the hell up, Shooting Star." He hissed, actually baring his teeth and hunching his shoulders like an animal, huffing as his single good eye flashed a ravenous crimson. Mabel was clearly taken aback, stepping away from him as the growl kept rumbling from his throat, growing in intensity as they stared one another down. She started to tremble once foam gathered at the corners of his mouth, and two parts of him struggled internally. The first one, the older, wiser, kinder one chided him for snapping at an innocent child. His anger was with himself and they all knew what the feeling in his gut was. His other half, hungry and mad, brutishly shoved in that he should kill her. _Take her soul. Return to being Bill Cipher._ They wrestled with one another, Bill remaining a bystander until he decided to take charge for himself. The mad bit was weaker than his better nature, or so he liked to think. Since when did he think that? He just huffed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and blinking back unbidden tears as he curled into the fetal position on Dipper's bed. Mabel sighed, pulling the blanket up over Bill's lean form. His hand shot out, grabbing her roughly by the wrist, nails digging deep into her skin as his face contorted into a snarl. She squirmed at first, but eventually the tears couldn't be hidden as he emitted a high-pitched whimper. Their hands settled into a loose resting hold, his thumb absently stroking the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," he said, voice barely a whisper. "just leave me alone for a little while, Mabel."

He murmured something vaguely appreciative and loosened his grip as Mabel moved for the door. "Let me know when you're ready to talk. I know it's hard to adjust to all this, but I promise it'll be better if you talk." There was no response, so she trudged downstairs, sitting on the second step from the bottom and nursing the deep scratches along her wrist and the back of her hand. She needed to take some time to think.

Maybe Ford was right. He had stopped himself before things got ugly, but there was no way of telling when Bill might decide he no longer needed her help and find it appropriate to get her out of the way. On the other hand, he had stopped himself. He had apologized. He really did seem sorry. Mabel had seen his brow furrow, hands twitching and body shaking as he wrestled with himself- he was trying his very best- she knew he hadn't meant badly. He was fighting to stay in control, though what it was he fought against she couldn't know. Maybe he'd just forgotten his own strength. He hadn't properly interacted with the physical plane for some time, after all, but he had seemed perfectly able to handle Waddles gently and pick up items without breaking them, so that couldn't be the answer. Or perhaps, Bill thought he was doing Mabel a favor. She considered that very viable option, shuddering. Maybe he was trying to be nice. He had seemed to get a great kick out of physical pain the last time he'd attained a vessel, and expected that she would feel the same. Maybe that internal struggle was his way of trying to figure out her reaction. But there were too many things that weren't quite right, she realized, wondering in the back of her mind of Dipper would approve of her thorough analysis of the situation.

Mabel wanted to help Bill, she really did. He had done terrible things in the past but now that he'd been stripped of his power, he was almost normal- in fact, didn't he just now call her by her name instead of the ridiculous alias he'd made up for her? Did that mean nothing? Perhaps his night terrors were memories of all the terrible mistakes he'd made.

The nightmares actually reminded her of Dipper, and the bad dreams he had always had when he was younger. Maybe there was no similarity at all, but despite all her inner protests, there was something in Mabel that yearned for something or someone to fill the hole where Dipper had once been. She wondered if Dipper would have been hurt by that thought, that terrible, hollow thought that something might someday be able to replace him.

Mabel hissed through her teeth, cringing as her fingers brushed over the oozing cuts on her hand. She stood and hopped downstairs, finding the box of Band-Aids in the kitchen cabinet and patching herself up.

"What happened to you?" Stan asked gruffly as she passed, "Get attacked by a raccoon or somethin'? I think there might be a family of 'em up in that attic."

She bit her lip, freezing for a moment. "No," she replied, laughing nervously, "just an accident with some construction paper." The lie burned in her chest as Stan scrutinized her. At first, she was afraid he'd call her out, but his stern gaze just softened and he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Well, sweetie, I'm glad you're feelin' better. I know stuff is hard and that ain't gonna change, but it's good to see you startin' to move on. I know I'm not the best at this, but if you ever need somebody to talk to, you know I'll always be around to listen."

Mabel sighed deeply, an icy pang of guilt gnawing at her stomach. "Thanks, Grunkle Stan." She said nothing more and edged past him, stepping out into the yard. "I'll be back in a little while, I think I need to take a walk."

Stan gruffly acknowledged her with a call of, "Don't stay out all night!"

She didn't plan on it. She just wanted to visit the stump again. Maybe she could look up into the obsidian sky and all its constellations and see her brother's namesake. Perhaps if she spoke her wishes to the Big Dipper, the message would be brought to her brother. Maybe. Unlikely, but better than impossible. And so, Mabel walked out into the woods, dragging her feet a bit dejectedly as she mulled over something that had always seemed so far away- the future. High school, and before she knew it, she'd be in college. Dipper had known exactly what he wanted; graduating with a high GPA to get into a good college, and minors in photography and film design in the hopes of creating his own ghost-hunting show. He'd always been a fan of the paranormal, after all. Learning the secrets of Gravity Falls must have been like a dream come true. On the other hand, Mabel wasn't quite sure what she wanted. She'd considered becoming a doctor, and helping people, but another part of her was tugged by more frivolous pursuits like becoming a pop star or fashion designer. Those things were much harder to attain, and while Mabel had always lived in the present until now, this moment made her feel the crushing weight of what was to come. Dipper would have been there to comfort her when reality came roaring over her head like a storm. He'd have known exactly what to do then. It was a part of growing up- one she had always figured that she and Dipper would share.

The silence of the forest only made her troubled thoughts louder. The buzzing of mosquitoes and cries of night animals were quiet and far-off to her ears. All Mabel could hear was the deafening sound of her thoughts bouncing around inside her skull. What was she going to do? She was granted a welcome break from her musings as the glen where the stump rested came into view. The claw-like branches of the trees around were unfamiliar and twisted, somehow stripped bare of all their leaves between now and the last time she'd visited the clearing. The reek of sulfur and charred wood assaulted her nose as she entered the glade. Something was wrong.

Mabel rushed into the clearing without a second thought, seeing the stump burnt down to little more than a pile of splintered charcoal at her feet. The grass, too, was blackened and flattened in a radius around the stump, as though from an explosion. She was even more sure that something was terribly wrong as something hot and moist tickled her ear. Her body seized up as a thin, reedy voice whispered in her ear. " **You can't.** "

Out of the corner of her eye, Mabel could see a pair of glowing yellow orbs scrutinizing her. Her peripheral vision caught a figure shrouded in shadow, wisps of noxious darkness rolling off it like a fog. "I c-can't what?" She dared to whisper back, still unable to move and turn around to face it.

" **You can't save them. None of them. Not Mason. Not Bentley. Stanford, Stanley, Jesύs or Wendy. They'll all burn.** "

Mabel's heart leapt at the sound of Dipper's real name, hot tears pricking at her eyes. "Mason… Dipper's dead. He died during Weirdmaggedon…"

The voice purred in her ear, making her shudder as a cold hand touched her neck. " **You can't save them. Not without my help. I could bring him back.** "

"N-no you can't."

" **I can.** " The voice was cruel, predatory. Mabel could feel the wrongness of the voice's owner. Something terrible. It was familiar and oh so human, foreign and alien all at the same time. " **All you have to do is make a deal, my sweet Shooting Star.** "

Mabel found the will to move her legs as the invisible force loosened its grip on her. Something told her it was this creature, this beast that had been restraining her. It expected her to accept. She expected to do no such thing, scrambling away as fast as her legs would carry her. The beast snarled, enraged. The only discernible feature of the shrouded silhouette was its two bulging, hungry yellow eyes. This monster had called her "Shooting Star." There was only one person Mabel knew who called her that.

"Bill!" She cried, sniffling and crying as she stumbled backwards into a tree, "If this is a joke, it isn't funny!"

* * *

Bill Cipher knew something wasn't right as he trudged downstairs into the living room. Stan was in his usual spot on the armchair, and turned to glare at him suspiciously as he passed. "Whatcha doin' there, corn-chip?"

The demon curled his lip, "Don't call me that, Fez. Have you seen Shooting Star?"

Stan narrowed his eyes. "Why're you askin'?"

"None of your business."

"You wanna be fresh with me, kid?"

Bill laughed, shrill and manic as he tipped his head back. He sounded enough like his old self for Stan to freeze, stiffening with wide eyes. He returned to a normal posture, wiping a tear from his eye. "Fez," he said, "I'm literally a billion years older than you. Probably more, actually."

Stan seemed to relax ever so slightly, but remained tense and wary as Bill's gaze drifted around the room. "Still didn't answer me."

Bill sighed, scratching the back of his head. He could feel heat rushing to his cheeks. "I said somethin' rude to her, Fez. I wanna let her know I didn't mean it! Maybe I'll find some deer teeth... Screaming head..."

Stan roared with laughter, almost spitting out his Pitt soda. "Never thought I'd live to see the day you of all people would apologize!" He guffawed, slapping his knee and grinning like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Bill remained unamused to say the least. His usual self, immersed in trickster's antics, would have laughed along and made a snide comment on how amusing this meatsack's dumbness was. Something stopped him. "It's been what, thirty years? I'm sorry for tricking your brother." Stan immediately shut up at this, eyes widening, tensing slightly in preparation for what he expected to be some sick joke. "I'm sorry for trying to destroy you mestsacks' conceptions of reality..." There was a long pause. "I'm sorry about Pine Tree. It was my fault." The old man just stared, slack-jawed. "Pass it on to Stanford for me, will ya?"

Stan just kept on gawking. He couldn't believe his ears. Bill nodded, looking at him darkly before his eye settled on the drawer of the small side table beside the reclining chair. He strode past a still-dazed Stanley to retrieve a silver cross- evidently kept close by in case of emergency. It was a sanctified anti-demon weapon, so naturally, it burnt his hand when he accidentally brushed it with bare skin, eliciting a pained cry. He stretched the sleeve of his sweater over his hand to pick it up, examining it and hoping it was potent enough. He stared out the window for a moment, drifting towards the closed screen door. He breathed in deeply through his nose, concentrating on the taste of human auras in the air. Stanford and Stanley were close and warm in his peripheral awareness, but they were not what he sought. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, dancing over his lips like a snake's. The longer he concentrated, the clearer he could make out the distant flavor of human fear. "Where's Shooting Star?" He hissed, voice cold. When Stan didn't respond, his eye glowed red, feeble blue flames bursting from his hands. "Where is _Mabel_?" He snarled, baring his dull human teeth and wishing they were more intimidating.

Stan's eyes widened in shock. "She said she was goin' out for a walk. That's all she told m- Wait, where're you goin'?"

Bill growled, shoving the screen door open with the cross in his hand as he flew out across the Mystery Shack parking lot and into the forest. The bitter taste of fear in the air grew stronger and stronger, tainted with sulfur and rage as he drew closer. Without thinking, he grounded himself, feet settling solidly on the ground instead of floating. He held out the cross in front of him even as it ate at his his hands, leaping into the clearing.

* * *

 **A/N: Alrighty then. This is a pretty long chapter, lots of exposition, etc. My headcanon for Dipper's real name is featured here, as well as some hints at my personal take on Bill's past and motive. (Which will probably be shattered when the next episode comes out and we start to learn these things in canon.) I don't want to spoil what I have planned for you, but Alice is going to be very important, and so will Bentley. In fact, he already is.**

 **I'd also like to thank everybody who's read and reviewed so far! I'm really glad someone actually enjoys this incoherent nonsense. I'd also like to respond to this anonymous review- "** Either everyone who read your story is a Billdip faggot who needs to jump off a bridge, or you're deleting any reviews that you don't agree with. There are NO bad reviews."

 **In terms of this, here's what I got: A. Nope. I don't delete reviews. B. While it was stated kind of rudely, there is a point to be made. As much as I appreciate your praise, it would be helpful to get some constructive criticism in reviews so I can be able to improve my writing and storytelling in the future! Cheers,**


	6. Chapter 6

"Bill!" Mabel wailed again, begging for this madness to stop, but the only sound she heard was a high-pitched screech, loud enough to shatter glass as something leapt between her and the monster. It was Bill Cipher.

"You get the _fuck_ away from Shooting Star!" He snarled at the stronger demon, waving the cross in front of him as it recoiled. While he was at a disadvantage in terms of power, the stronger a demon was, the more harshly they were affected by religious objects. His calculations said that a good blow with the cross would be enough to scare the creature off at worst, and cripple or even kill it at best. What a dream that'd be.

" **Cipher,** " the creature hissed mockingly, " **I thought I made it clear you aren't to oppose me!** "

Bill just growled, crouching protectively between the demon and Mabel.

"Just get away from here," he hissed, "this is _my_ Shooting Star." With that, he lunged forward, swinging the cross at his adversary with a snarl. The monster recoiled, swiping at Bill with clawed hands and managing to graze his cheek as he dodged with inhuman speed. The blood trickled down, into his mouth and under his nose. A bout of psychotic laughter erupted from the dream demon as he rushed his enemy yet again, a Cheshire grin overtaking his face.

He swung the cross, landing a blow right in the side of the monster's head. It wailed in pain as the filthy tar that enveloped it burned away, revealing tender pink skin. Bill expected such a blow to cripple the creature, but it only served to enrage it further. Furious tendrils of demonic magic exploded from the monster, wrapping around both Bill and Mabel like tentacles from hell. They squirmed in the monster's grip as it hissed in their faces, unclean aura nearly suffocating to Bill.

" **Poor little things,** " it crooned, so familiar and human, foreign and alien. " **It's truly too bad that little boy Billy broke his deal. Too bad, too bad!** "

Bill's eye widened in horror, filling with golden tears. "No!" He shrieked, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please!"

The creature's bulging yellow eyes burned into Mabel, then Bill. " **There is nothing left you can offer me.** " It hissed, " **That pathetic excuse for a meatsack will be devoured.** "

The dream demon's anguished wail faded into the ether as consciousness slipped away from both, the monster's grip suffocating them both.

* * *

 _"Alice is sick. The doctors say she has less than a y-"_

 _"This town is full of secrets. Magic is real. I can cure h-"_

 _"Bentley William Charter. My name is Bentley William Charter. I won't forget this. I am fourteen years old and I'm human. My siste-"_

 _"My name is_ _ **Bi-"**_

 _"Bentley William Charter. I'm Bentley William Charter."_

 _"He calls me something- not my na-"_

 _"_ _ **Deal?**_ _Deal. We made a deal! I can cure her! He gave me the powe-"_

 _"I should have known. There is always a catch. Why did I trust Him?"_

 _"_ _ **Physical touch is funny!**_ _I'm getting stron-_ _ **I know what the inside of a duck looks like!**_ _"_

 _"_ _ **I like dEALS! Gotta eat... What's this? SOUL**_ _?"_

 _"'Benny?' She called m-"_

 _"_ _ **Not my nAME.**_ _"_

 _"_ _ **STUPID USELESS MEATSACKS THINK THEY CAN C-**_ _"_

 _"_ _ **They're dead now. Haha. HAHAHA! Heheaahhahahaaaa!**_ _"_

 _"_ _ **Blood tastes sweet. Not as sweet as their lights. I WANT MORE.**_ _"_

 _"What have I done?"_

 _"She's gon-"_

* * *

Bill was rudely startled awake by the sound of a scream. It took him much too long to realize that it was his own.

He quickly clapped his hands over his mouth, absently noting the increasingly distressed beeping of the heart monitor as his heart rate increased. His one good eye darted to and fro. Where was he? Where was she?

The silence was suffocating. What was that? All those voices that had echoed beyond his ears, he'd heard them before.

Realizing he needed a distraction, Bill took the time now to examine his surroundings. The room was pale and sterile, silent save for the former dream demon's steady breathing and the rhythmic cries of the heart monitor next to his bed. His hospital bed. He wore nothing but a hospital gown, in fact. Why was he in the hospital?

And then Bill remembered. It came back to him in a rush. The creature of tar and Shooti- Mabel. Something strange had overcome him, something sickeningly _human_. He feared that monster enough to seek support from the Pines family, and that was saying something, but he was quite determined to stay himself. Dumb, unwelcome human feelings had been clouding his judgement as of late, he decided. He would have no more of that. Stuck in human form or not, he was Bill Cipher. He was able tear apart the dimension for fun if he liked- no mortal urges or other inconveniences of this plane of existence would keep him from completing his plans. That's to say, he had felt that way, but the effect spending time with those mortals had on him, he realized, was nearly paradoxical. He felt, for lack of a better word, _safe_ , when he enjoyed their company.

Why was that?

Not to mention his sudden protective urges towards Mabel. That wasn't right. He was a nearly omnipotent demon, at least in spirit. At least he _thought_ so. Demons weren't supposed to protect. They existed to destroy. Right?

There was something about that kid, he decided, something. He couldn't tell what but he knew it was there and it was real.

It took a long moment for him to register that a nurse stood in the door, seeming puzzled.

"What can I do for ya, toots?" He blurted boisterously, hardly even realizing his words as they escaped him.

The woman shifted nervously. "I heard shouting," she said softly, voice low and suspicious. "I came to make sure everything's alright."

He found some self control, glancing away as a look of innocuous bewilderment tugged at his features. "I'm okay. Just a bad dream or somethin'." He murmured in stark contrast to his previous demeanor. "Thanks for checkin' in on me, though."

Something in him silently praised his words, but another shuddered in contempt, much to the chagrin of the other. The two parts of him had once been indistinguishable, but they seemed to be drawing apart. The vision that had flashed behind his eyes was odd. The the rush of experiences were in some way, his, but foreign to him. He did not remember these things, but his dream demon instincts, while somewhat repressed by his physical existence, insisted that they were memories.

The nurse seemed perplexed, staring with fear and intrigue at Bill's intense gaze. He realized he'd been staring off into the distance as though in a trance. "I'm okay sweetheart, seriously." He flashed a smug grin, "you can head off now."

She shook her head sternly. Her name tag read, 'Mrs. K. Sterling.' "I'm afraid I can't do that just yet." Much to his chagrin, Sterling moved to open the door.

A uniformed police officer, a woman who appeared infinitely more capable than Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland, thank heavens, stepped into the room.

"Why's that?" Bill narrowed his eye.

"Do you know why you're here, hospitalized, Mr. Pines?" Said the officer.

The demon arched an eyebrow. That wasn't his name.

"Stanley Pines said you were a distant cousin. Is that correct?"

"Uh, yes."

"Care to explain what happened?"

Bill opened his mouth to make a snide reply, but something stopped him. "If I'm honest with ya," he hummed, "I'm not quite sure."

It wasn't a total lie. Just a half-truth.

"You and a _thirteen-year-old girl_ were discovered _passed out_ in the woods, with _no one else around_ , in the _middle of the night_."

"Sure, what's your point?" He acknowledged, calculations buzzing behind his eyes.

The woman's formerly soft voice hardened ever so slightly, and somehow Bill found that scarier than if she'd started screaming. "Her great uncle is convinced that _you're_ the one that hurt her, so the incident is now being investigated based on those claims of foul play."

Bill's eye widened. He couldn't help but feel wounded. Sure, he'd done some pretty cruel things in the past, but those were just mind games he toyed with people, nothing that'd cause lasting damage. Probably.

"Mabel?" He breathed, brow furrowing as he rubbed his head and tried to recollect through the throbbing headache. Existing on the physical plane really was inconvenient, not to mention these useless human feelings rekindling in his gut. "Is she okay?"

"She'll live," she assured him, glancing down at a notepad, "but according to my report, she's got a few broken ribs and lots of minor scratches and bruises."

Bill couldn't help but sink in relief as the tension drained from his muscles.

"Thank the gods," he sighed, falling back onto his pillow and running both hands through his light hair. "If something happened to Shooting Star, I think I'd..."

"'Shooting Star?'" The officer inquired, narrowing her eyes and scribbling furiously on her notepad.

Bill nodded, swallowing past the lump growing in his dry throat. "Nickname. It's what I call the kid."

Something knotted in his gut. The burning. Mabel had asked if something was bothering him. He definitely knew what it was now.

"Alright..." Her dark eyes scrutinized Bill's single pale one, taking in every detail of his face. "Where were you say, an hour before the attack?"

Bill shrugged. "I'd guess it was," he rolled his eyes, "what, nine or ten o'clock when I got out there with Star. Before that, I was probably showering," he guessed. "And before then, probably in our room."

" _Our_ room?" She was definitely a bit suspicious. What did she think, he was sticking around all the time to abuse the kid? "You share a room with Mabel Pines?"

The former dream demon dipped his head affirmatively. "That's right."

"And is it true that her younger twin brother passed away only a few months ago? Were you in the household then?"

Bill swallowed hard. "Yeah. I was in town," he admitted. Another half-truth. Something in his gut coiled discontentedly. Since when was lying so uncomfortable? "But I hadn't moved in yet."

The officer looked her notepad up and down with purpose. Her dark eyes glittered with suspicion.

"Listen," said Bill suddenly, an intensity gleaming in his single pale eye that demanded the woman's attention. She obliged, arching an eyebrow. "If you're _implying_ what I think you are," he hissed through gritted teeth, "you're a lot dumber than I thought!"

Taken aback, the woman recoiled, but did not speak.

"Yeah, I'll admit it! I was a _dick_! I picked on Shootin' Star and Pine Tree, and I'll be damned, it was a great fuckin' time!" He sneered, wiping at the froth that'd started gathering at his mouth. "But make no mistake," he hissed, voice growing firm, "if anybody or anything wanted to hurt those kids for, I'd tear it the _hell_ apart!"

There was a long pause.

"You seem to care a lot about the Pines twins."

He nodded, sighing and wiping at the wetness that'd stung his eye.

"I was too late for Pine Tree, though." His voice was barely a whisper as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

The officer held up a hand as he was about to speak again. "You mean Mason 'Dipper' Pines? Another nickname?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Mason Pines' death was attributed to a series of unexplained phenomena, believed to have resulted in explosions that killed the boy. You were present?"

Bill nodded sullenly. He bit his lip, blinking back tears.

"You look like you've had enough, kid. I'll ask one more thing and then you can rest. Mabel says it was a bear that attacked her in the forest, and you tried to save her?"

The dream demon's heart leapt a little. She, Mabel Pines, had _lied_ for him. He nodded. "Either a bear or a really big dog. It was dark. I couldn't tell."

The woman nodded, exchanging glances with the nurse. "Keep an eye on him," she murmured, loudly enough for Bill to catch as she departed.

There was a long, crushing silence. Despite himself, he wondered if Mabel was okay. He didn't quite understand why he'd leapt in to save her. A few months ago, he'd've been glad to have that little meatsack out of his then-metaphorical hair. The only conclusion that he could make was that some useless human survival instinct had driven him to protect the weak little thing. That was what most meatsacks did, right?

Eventually, however, his reverie was broken by the nurse, Mrs. Sterling's soft grunt.

"Are you feeling alright?" She asked. Her concern was touching, but Bill still felt his mind wandering.

"I'll be fine," he muttered dryly. "Will Mabel?"

Mrs. Sterling nodded with a gentle smile. "Like I said, Bill- right?"

He nodded.

"The kid'll be just fine. She's definitely busted up, no doubt about that, but she'd be a lot worse if you hadn't done what you did. She's lucky you were there."

Bill's eye widened. He had helped little Shooting Star, but why? Something about her. He knew it was there, a niggling little feeling in the back of his mind. Keep her safe, it said, be good to her, it said. Don't make the same mistake.

His breath hitched in his throat. "Can I see her?"

* * *

 **A/N: some clarification here, haha**

 **1\. Physically, Bill's human form appears to be in the 15-17 year old range of age**

 **2\. Stan's definitely biased in trying to put the blame on Bill, though he's not really at fault- kid had it coming. Suppose he figures it's high time Bill was helpless against the power of the law.**

 **3\. We learn more about Bentley! And Alice! They're gonna be important, trust me.**

 **4\. Bill struggles to cope with human emotions that he was numb to as a demon. Being able to live life a day at a time, as a human among humans has softened him up a bit to the intricacies of human emotion. He might'Ve felt those things before, at some point, but at this point, he's totally clueless.**


	7. Chapter 7

Mabel was peacefully asleep when Bill arrived in the room. Stan and Ford stood at her bedside, looking equally worried and sick at her still form. The former dream demon felt a stinging in his abdomen, arms and legs as he approached the bed, but he knew they were only bruises and scratches.

He couldn't say the same for poor Mabel.

Bandages were wound tightly around her head, face and what was visible of her arms were littered with small white pieces of tape to cover up the many cuts and more serious bruises that peppered her tender skin.

But her chest rose and fell steadily, and her face seemed peaceful. Bill found a grudging sense of relief rise in his gut that she was okay.

"Shooting Star," he breathed softly, voice barely audible. A faint tang of blood that somehow rose above the sharp burning of alcohol wafted from the sleeping child, but the dream demon could taste a mild contentment and relaxation in her aura. That was good.

His single eye stared at her reverently. Her soft face was resting in a neutral, relaxed expression, breathing steady and blankets tucked nice and cozily over her body. Something about the shape of her face reminded him of something, or someone, but he couldn't quite recall who.

His reverie was broken by Ford's dark stare. He knew he was definitely going to be blamed for this- it was to be expected. Sure, he'd wormed his way into a fragile sense of normalcy as the days passed, but thing as such are never sturdy enough to last, especially not after an incident like this.

Ford grabbed Bill by the arm, growling through clenched teeth, "Give us a moment, will you?"

The nurse nodded and hovered over Mabel beside Stan, putting a reassuring arm around the old man. "She'll be just fine, Mr. Pines."

He nodded numbly. He could hardly believe he'd let this happen to her.

Neither could Ford, evidently, made clear by his fist's collision with Bill's jaw almost as soon as he'd pulled him out into the corridor.

He spat blood, recoiling and rubbing his sore face and nursing his bitten tongue. He could sense surprise rolling from Ford- he expected him to hit back. All he did was sigh, sauntering back into Mabel's room as he wiped his mouth.

"Good thing Shooting Star's gonna be alright," he murmured, sidling up between Stan and the nurse.

He reached out tentatively towards the bed. Stan stiffened, and so did the nurse, and Ford hovered behind them stiffly, ready to pounce at a moment's notice should he suspect Bill would pose a threat to his niece.

But his fingers didn't become terrible claws or light up with hellfire. No, they ghosted over her cheek and brushed a few stray locks of hair from her face. She reminded him of someone, if only he could remember whom.

Bill let a melancholy sigh escape him.

This would bother him until he could figure out who it was she seemed to remind him of.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the short chapter here, been having a little trouble with this story. (And weeping because Gravity Falls is coming to an end. D:)**

 **I'm not super happy with this chapter or the one before it, but I guess it'll have to do for the moment until I can find time to go back and edit.**


End file.
